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Once there were tea ladies, with mystique,
Our morning thirsts, they did pique,
Broad of stern,
Trolleys of urns,
Lovely biscuits, sometimes cakes,
Morning pangs, they did slake,
Big happy smiles, tea lady's here,
Did we greet her with a silent cheer,
And by the way,
What was your name?
Where did you go to, bye,
Gone to make tea pots in the sky,
Once were tea ladies, with mystique,
Our morning thirsts, they did pique......
Feedback welcome.
The old man mumbles in a dying voice
had my sons been alive.

A tear wells in the daughter's eyes.

She pours a spoon of water in his mouth
and wipes his lips and her eyes.

Having lit the pyre of his three sons
he was willing to barter his daughter's life
if that made God grant him another son
and here is the daughter by his bedside
feeding, cleaning and even shaving him
her only prayer to God being to save his life
bartering her entire means.

Outside the thunder cracks the sky
and she spreads a tarpaulin over the bed.

my son laments the father.

Inside her is no cover for rain.
One fleeting chance to catch you between trapezes
Yet my head was bowed, my thoughts immersed
In another dream of another life that i longed to live
A moments lapse careers you to that downward spiral
Through all those safety nets, all those webs we wove
Once so secure borne from our labour, love and toil
Exposed now like a promise of night through a civil dawn
As you fall through each of my declarations of trust
You blow out the candles and knock out the lights
Of celebrations and occasions now shattered like glass

Blackness descending through this never blinking eye
As those moments and time perpetually relive yet resist
The blood still refusing to flow freely through my veins
As i sit and wait for this evening coffee to run cold
That i may embrace the sanctuary of night once more
For I was one that could never dream in the dark
No more than one who could ever make amends
Between those two trapezes that signaled our end
Eroding brick wall
all that remains
refracted, fading
fishermen shadow
red dawn’s early light

brackish still water
shocked violent green
seeps from the desert
to be subsumed
by an unrelenting sea

restless dreamers rise
muscle sturdy pangas
into the churning tide
seeking quicksilver
at the continental edges

returning boats ride low
the shrinking horizon
race to safe harbor
cold beer on ice
under palm palapas

in the restaurant
a young man
shows off tuna
half as tall as he is
to admiring tourists

like me, seeking
the deep, slow burn
salt, jalapeno, lime
a fitting end to this
unraveling dream

Pueblo Mágico
of “no bad days”
walls of contention
in a fractured land
will never separate us

one margarita, two
another raised in defiance
of those who would try
to confine and define
free-range spirits

the Pacific touches
this contiguous shore
from equator to pole
we could catch
a clockwise current

follow Polaris up North
arrive transformed
magnetically charged
disparate souls fused
together bound
Hello and thank you. my HP friends!  I couldn't wish for a kinder, more talented group of people to spend time with.  Thank you for being a part of my life.  Apologies for sporadic reading...been drinking too many margaritas!
: )
I keep replaying
Last night's scene.
An English man
sitting at a bar,
in a wealthy
side of town.

He was carrying on
with me about
The People
not having
a good reason
to carry a gun.

It's hard for him to see
why I strongly disagree.
I want The People
to fight for what they believe in,
and question authority.

It wouldn't be quite fair
if the law makers
and enforcers
had all the guns
and we had none.

Rebels are going to
have guns anyway,
but they call them criminals.
Then otherizing them,
making it "okay"
for them to be locked away
in 3x overcrowded cells,
for as long as they can keep them there.

Please keep explaining to me
why you,
who lives in a gated community,
are okay with your gun
in your locked safe,
but you're not okay with me,
who lives in the south end,
having a gun
on my hip
as I walk through
a littered park.

Or why it's not okay
for a women,
looking good
for a night out on the town,
to keep a gun in her purse
as she passes the downtown alleys
and begging homeless.

You're right about the terrorists.
They don't really exist,
but do you realize who
did bomb the towers?
Do you realize who is creating
the fear of black men, now Muslims?

Please keep telling me
that there's no reason
for a revolution.
That there's no good reason
For The people
to carry a gun.

There's nothing wrong
with fighting for what you believe in,
but blindly taking away
ones ability to fight back,
that's wrong.
Comment with your opinions on gun rights if you want!! Here's my opinion.
 Mar 2017 Jaclyn Harlamert
nivek
fully into character
I make it through the door

dragging all my weakness
behind me a dead weight

memories flavoured unique
keep knocking on my consciousness

and now and again
I remember to breathe.
I sigh at day-dawn, and I sigh
When the dull day is passing by.
I sigh at evening, and again
I sigh when night brings sleep to men.
Oh!  it were far better to die
Than thus forever mourn and sigh,
And in death's dreamless sleep to be
Unconscious that none weep for me;
Eased from my weight of heaviness,
Forgetful of forgetfulness,
Resting from care and pain and sorrow
Thro' the long night that knows no morrow;
Living unloved, to die unknown,
Unwept, untended, and alone.
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